


Goes Down Easy

by FunAndWhimsy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Friends With Benefits, Katt Zine: Thorns, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23224285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunAndWhimsy/pseuds/FunAndWhimsy
Summary: Swaying gently in an Olkarion treehouse a hundred meters above the surface is a pretty good way for Keith to forget, but Matt’s flirty smirk and armload of liquor promises something even better.
Relationships: Matt Holt/Keith
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	Goes Down Easy

A warm breeze kicks up and the treehouse suite sways a little. Now that Keith‘s used to it, lying in bed while the wind blows him around mostly feels like being in a giant hammock. With all the windows open, Keith can hear the music in the air, the party still in full swing below. He closes his eyes and breathes in the perfume on the air, lets the wind rock him nice and slow, and wonders for the hundredth time if he left too soon, if people are going to notice how early he left, if he‘s going to get a concerned check-in from Shiro or Pidge tomorrow. He should go back down, dance a little more, laugh a little more, make sure they don’t spend their wedding night worrying about him. Pidge might ask him to dance again, all giggly from champagne and glowing with newlywed happiness, but that’s not exactly a _bad_ thing.

The elevator chimes and Keith‘s best argument for staying put steps into the suite with the most champagne bottles Keith has ever seen a single person carry. He looks extremely satisfied with himself, which always makes Keith want to deflate him a little.

“I‘m not drinking that much champagne,” Keith says, eyeing Matt‘s clinking armload. “I‘m definitely not sticking around if _you_ drink that much champagne. I‘d rather be down at the reception than up here holding your hair back all night.”

“You love my hair,” Matt says. “Don‘t worry, I stashed my liquor in champagne bottles so it‘d look like I was off to have some youthful fun and not like I have a drinking problem.”

“What are the odds we open these up and find out it‘s all champagne and they‘re drinking your nasty alien liquor?”

“Oh,” Matt says, tilting his head a little. “I hadn‘t thought of that. Good, I hope.”

Keith sits up on his elbows so he can watch Matt amble around the room, depositing various bottles into various buckets of ice until he‘s left with just one, swinging in his loose grip while he opens every cupboard in the little kitchenette. He isn‘t as disheveled as Keith, who lost most of his clothes between the elevator and the bed, but somehow he‘s the one who looks like he just got fucked. 

Sometimes Keith looks at the reality of his life and thinks it‘s a mess to be fucking out all his horny unrequited shit with her _brother_ , of all people, and sometimes he looks at Matt‘s soft lips and long fingers and slim hips, the way his hair falls in his face no matter how hard he tries to keep it under control, his deceptively broad shoulders, and wonders how he went so long _not_ fucking him.

“How long‘ve you been up here moping?” he asks, clambering up on the bed with his hands full of booze and cups. “I didn‘t see you leave.”

“I‘m not moping,” Keith says. He has no idea if Matt believes him or not, but it‘s been years. He‘s a fucking adult who’s had a long time to get ready for this, not the maudlin drama queen he was when they started hooking up. He hasn‘t been for a long time. 

The wind kicks up again and Keith thinks a little about getting up and closing at least a few of the windows, but getting out of bed seems stupid, and the forest smells good — better with the hint of Matt‘s sweat and cologne mixed in — and maybe it‘s getting a little chilly, but he‘ll be warming up real soon. So he just rests his hands on Matt‘s hips, strokes his thumbs across the soft texture of his suit pants, wishes it were Matt‘s skin instead, but they have all night.

Matt pries one of Keith‘s hands away and Keith expects it to end up pinned over his head, but Matt presses a cup into it instead, curls Keith‘s fingers around the smooth wood like he doesn‘t trust Keith to hold it himself.

“Balmeran whiskey,” he says, and Keith wrinkles his nose.

“This isn‘t the one with the corrosive agent in it, right? I had a sore throat for three weeks.”

“That‘s because you had my dick down your throat all night,” Matt says, and tilts his cup for a flat clink against Keith‘s. “You pain slut. And no, that‘s Unilu vodka.”

That‘s good enough for Keith. He pushes up on his elbow and takes a slow sip, lets it sit on his tongue, swallows it down slow and easy. It does burn, but the good kind, like drinking a campfire, the kind that would keep him warm on one side while he lay on his back and watched the stars.

Keith tugs at the fabric wrinkling over Matt‘s hip. “You‘re wearing too much.”

“Maybe,” Matt says and downs the rest of his glass in one go, so he can climb off the bed. He undresses the way he always does, like he wants to put on a show, but getting his clothes off without falling over is just a little too much of a challenge. Keith‘s seen the way he moves in a fight, knows how graceful he can be, but it‘s cute when he‘s clumsy, when he forgets he‘s in control of his own limbs.

Matt doesn‘t fall over, so Keith gets to admire all the long lines of him, sharp hipbones and the barely-there definition of his abs and the solid, wiry muscle in his skinny arms and legs, the way Matt‘s twinkling at him because he loves being looked at, and his pretty cock, just beginning to perk up and show interest. Keith takes a deliberate sip of the last of his whiskey, watches Matt watch his throat work.

“I have a theory,” Matt says, as he leans over the bed, “that the best pairing for Balmeran whiskey is cock.”

Keith laughs a little, lifts his hips so Matt can tug his boxers down. “Oh yeah?”

“Your cock, specifically,” he says, and wraps his lips around the head of Keith‘s dick, steals his breath away. If Matt ended everything that way, Keith wouldn‘t mind letting him have the last word so much. 

Keith lets his eyes slip closed, doesn‘t have the energy to keep them open; the whiskey and the slow heat of Matt‘s mouth around his cock are too much to take. Matt hums and Keith tangles his fingers tighter in Matt‘s hair, tries not to pull even if he knows Matt doesn‘t mind. He‘s sucking Keith so slow and lazy and decadent, Keith doesn‘t want to rush him, doesn‘t ever want to do anything but float right here, half out of his mind and so full of _good_ he thinks he might burst. He knows he‘s making noises, can feel them vibrating in his throat, but couldn‘t begin to guess what they are. Matt has such a fucking gift for pushing him all the way out of his body, for melting his brain into goo, for making Keith feel like he can‘t — doesn‘t want to — handle anything but lying back and feeling good.

The breeze dances over his sweaty skin, bringing up goosebumps on his arms, teasing his nipples so deliberately it feels more like Matt has a third hand than like wind blowing. Between that and the mossy texture of the thick blanket underneath, if Keith didn‘t know any better, he‘d think Matt transported him outside somehow, or that they never came in, that Matt just laid him down in the thick grass because he couldn‘t wait to taste him.

Matt scrapes his teeth just a little, just right, and Keith‘s hips jerk before the feeling even really registers in his brain. Matt — well, “purrs” would be the closest word for it, and his hands slip under Keith‘s back to hold him where he is, not let him pull back from the plush warmth of Matt‘s throat. Not that he would if he could, not when Matt swallows like he‘s trying to take Keith in deeper, the muscles in his throat squeezing Keith‘s cock until the liquor in his blood catches fire. 

“Yes,” he sighs, not sure exactly what he‘s agreeing to, encouraging, except for all of it, every single thing Matt‘s doing and every last impulse lighting up his nerves, and comes like a tree falling in the forest, slow at first and then faster, faster. He definitely makes a sound, low and rough and shaped like Matt‘s name.

Matt presses kisses to Keith‘s hips and thighs, nibbling just a little; he doesn‘t need much to get Keith twitching in response, not right now when he‘s barely started coming down. By the time he‘s licked and kissed and bitten his way to Keith‘s neck, Keith has almost caught his breath, almost settled back into his body enough to feel the marks he‘s leaving.

“Hi,” Matt says, nips at his lower lip, and Keith laughs, a little giddier than usual. 

“Hey,” he says, and leans in for a kiss, wet and sloppy with Matt‘s mouth still tasting like come. Matt only indulges him for a minute before pulling away, kneeling up, and Keith pouts because he‘s blissed-out enough he doesn‘t mind stroking Matt‘s ego. 

“Easy, kitten,” he says, clambering off the bed. “Just getting a refill.”

The bottle of whiskey is still on the nightstand. Keith frowns a little, confused, even if it‘s not exactly a hardship to watch Matt saunter his naked ass around the room. He‘s so hard his cock is standing up against his belly, tip shiny-slick with precome, and as much as it makes Keith‘s mouth water, it‘s kind of nice to just look, let the fire start to build back up in his belly. Maybe there‘s a different liquor that goes best with Matt‘s cock — a rum, maybe, or tequila — and he‘s just being considerate about giving Keith the ideal flavor experience. It‘s the kind of thing he‘d do. Keith tracks him around the room, letting his eyes drift up and down over every ridiculous inch of him, until Matt leans over the kitchen counter to grab something from the other side.

His thighs and the cleft of his ass are shiny with lube, and the bright red base of a butt plug catches Keith‘s eyes and keeps them there, like he‘s hypnotized. They‘ve — there hasn‘t been any free time all day, for either of them, when did he —

“Have you been wearing that the whole time?” Keith asks, throat a little dry.

“Depends,” Matt says, “on how you define ‘the whole time‘. I put it in after the ceremony, before the party.”

“You put it in for the _dancing_?”

“Hell yeah,” Matt says, turns back to Keith and swings his hips while he saunters back to the bed, fresh bottle in hand. “What‘s the point if you‘re not gonna enjoy it?”

Keith rolls his eyes, but he‘s not exactly complaining. He flips through his memories of the night, Matt loose and relaxed giving his toast, Matt swinging his hips around the dance floor, every look he threw Keith‘s way with his cheeks a little pink and his mouth a little open, he was getting himself ready for this. For Keith. All night all Matt was thinking about was Keith fucking him, and it kind of feels like a waste Keith spent any time thinking about anything else. 

“You‘re thinking too hard,” Matt says, shuffling back on the bed. 

“ _You‘re_ too hard,” Keith says, and laughs even though it isn‘t funny. Matt just grins at him, that dashing crooked rebel hero grin of his, and fills his glass with something new. He rocks his hips while he pours, dragging his cock over Keith‘s oversensitive skin, sending little shocks up his spine as his cock gets hard again a little too soon. 

“Yeah, so drink fast.”

That feels like a challenge, whether or not Matt meant it that way, so Keith tips his head back and drains his glass in one go like he‘s taking a shot and not sampling Matt‘s favorite liquors. It doesn‘t burn at all, just sort of fizzes down his throat, bubbly and tickling, and coats his tongue in something thick and syrupy-sweet. Keith narrows his eyes at the bottle.

“That‘s dangerous,” he says.

“Arusians,” Matt says with a shrug like it explains everything. He takes a long swig out of the bottle, almost drops it when he tries to set it on the nightstand, and Keith doesn‘t have time to laugh at him because Matt‘s kissing him with a little of that fizz lingering on his tongue. 

Matt pulls away too soon, leans back and pushes his hips out to show off that gorgeous dick gone almost purple at the tip, aching for touch. Keith‘s had enough of their little drinking game, and it looks like Matt has too. He surges up off the bed and rolls Matt over, fast enough Matt oofs when he lands and then laughs. Keith wrestles his shirt and tie off, because somehow he hadn‘t yet, and settles between Matt‘s pretty spread thighs. 

He‘s still pretty slick when Keith reaches for the buttplug, so relaxed there‘s barely any resistance when Keith pulls it out maybe a little faster than he should; Matt groans, sweet and rough and his hips chase Keith‘s fingers like he can‘t bear to be empty. Keith doesn‘t really want to keep him empty any longer, either. He hooks his arms under Matt‘s legs and finally — fucking finally — pushes inside.

Matt feels incredible. He always does, but Keith‘s buzzing from the liquor, from getting off, from all the mess of feelings he is and isn‘t having, and Matt feels so good Keith kind of wants to cry. Matt indulges him for a tick, but only one, before he hooks those long, strong legs behind Keith‘s back and pulls him in close, forces him to thrust in all the way.

“Fuck,” Keith gasps, overwhelmed, and buries his face in Matt‘s neck like it‘ll be any easier to get his breath back when all he can smell is booze and cologne and sweat. 

“I‘m trying,” Matt says and Keith shouldn‘t reward that with a laugh, but he can‘t stop himself. It‘s so easy to laugh at his bad jokes — everything‘s so easy with him. Easy like the slow rhythm Keith builds with his hips, pulling back inch by agonizing inch until he almost slips out of Matt‘s eager hole, rocking back in at the same speed. Matt loves being filled and Keith wants him to savor it, so he can sit up and savor the way Matt‘s mouth drops open in time with every steady thrust. He gets his whole body into it, like Keith‘s waking him up piece by piece, throws his arms over his head, arches his back, tips his head against the pillow and bares his throat.

Keith leans in to nip at the tempting skin of his neck and shoulder, so easy to mark, all that pale skin that never sees the sun under its layers of rebel armor. He bruises so well and when he worries a spot with his teeth, makes it clear that one‘s going to last, Matt tightens up so much it‘s almost painful. With a last nip, Keith leans back again, not ready to stop looking at him, chest heaving, brown nipples drawn up tight in the cool air, all those muscles working in time with Keith‘s slow, torturous fucking.

The night outside has gone quiet, no more faint strains of music from the party downstairs. Like the rest of the world stopped existing, like it‘s just the two of them and their bodies and how good they make each other feel. Keith‘s focus narrows down to just the push of his cock into Matt‘s tight heat, the way Matt claws at his back, trying to make him go faster, the way he whines every time Keith pulls out, a little desperate like he thinks Keith might actually leave him empty. Keith is only human, only has so much self-control, and there‘s only so long he can do slow and steady. 

Matt‘s so flexible, folds up so easy when Keith leans forward, and at this angle Keith can fuck into him hard and fast and frantic, letting his control fray, letting need take over. Matt rakes his blunt nails all the way up Keith‘s spine and Keith bites down hard on his shoulder, gives as good as he‘s getting.

“Keith,” Matt gasps, and again, and again, in rhythm with Keith pounding into him as fast and hard as he can, barely pulling out because he can‘t stand to be anywhere but as deep inside him as he can get, doesn‘t want to miss even a quarter inch of Matt‘s muscles clenching up around him as he gets closer and closer. His whole body tenses up, coiled like a spring, Keith can feel it everywhere they‘re touching, and he shifts his hips just a little, _there_ , and Matt cries out so loud when he comes untouched if there is anyone still down at the party, they definitely heard it. 

Good. 

Keith knows what Matt likes so he doesn‘t let up, doesn‘t give him even a second to catch his breath, and the sweet way Matt‘s breath hitches, the oversensitive whines he knocks out of Matt, set him on fire. Keith comes so hard his vision whites out, grinds his hips and curses into the sweaty curve of Matt‘s neck and shoulder until he‘s so fucked out all he can do is collapse.

“Oof,” Matt says, but he slips his hands out of Keith‘s hair to wrap around his back, nuzzles against Keith‘s cheek until Keith manages to lift his head so Matt can kiss him, deep and slow. He‘s always so sweet after he comes, clingy in a way he never is any other time, needy the way none of Keith‘s other hookups are. 

It‘s kind of nice to indulge him, to just kiss him through the afterglow, stay wrapped up in each other until they don‘t so much come down as crash through the floor, drunk and tired. Keith finds the energy, somehow, to roll off of Matt, and Matt somehow manages to pull the blanket up over them to block out the breeze, and they should probably clean up but Matt‘s tucked against his side and Keith doesn‘t want to do anything other than lie here and soak it in.


End file.
